


Fix

by cecilantro



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: After Caleb trades his secrets for Beau’s silence, she begins to pick up on the things that haven’t left him.She calls in Mollymauk to fix it.





	Fix

Caleb has always flinched at sudden movements and angry tones, but not in the way that the others would have picked up on. When someone’s voice turns stormy, Caleb doesn’t shy away, Caleb straightens up like a poker and takes on the cold, hardened expression of a soldier.   
They all have similar reactions, in their own way, and the situation dictates it for a lot of them. When someone gets riled up at Caleb, Molly’s split-second reaction is defensiveness. Shoulders pulled up and back, chin tilted, he moves between Caleb and whatever the problem is as inconspicuous as he can.   
Beau’s reaction to anger and movement is to zip into combat position, she pulls up her hands and fists them before she’s even got a visual on whatever it is. Not great for waking her up, as poor, poor Fjord has found out- even half-asleep, Beau packs a punch to the gut something like a bolting horse.   
Similarly, waking Fjord up when his back is to you is a dangerous game. Molly and Caleb have both learned that it’s a shake and run, otherwise you run the risk of the falchion being summoned directly into the softest part of your stomach.

After Caleb trades his secrets for Beau’s silence, she begins to pick up on the things that haven’t left him. The less obvious things, not just the fear of fire, not just the flashbacks, the manic determination to obliterate himself in the pursuit of ultimate magic.   
She notices the way that his hands snap to casting position whenever somebody shouts close to him. The way that his head pulls up and his emotions disappear at the threat of physical violence. She remembers the time she punched him in the arm as part of her odd affection system and he’d stuttered his breath and dropped his eyes and closed in on himself.   
When someone touches him, he does the same, as though he’s expecting  _ punishment _ all these years later.    
And she looks at him and she feels a dull ache in her chest that doesn’t find its way to emotion in her face, but it’s there regardless. She isn’t equipped for this shit, she’s tried her damn best, and she’s learned so much, not just about Caleb, but herself, too. Never thought she’d care for someone to the extent that she does Caleb, now, though Jester comes mighty fucking close. She collects their stories and adds them to her arsenal of  _ assholes to think of when punching _ .   
“Molly.” She smacks the back of his head, not lightly, but it isn’t full force. He lurches forward anyway, curses as his hand goes to rub the sore spot.   
“What was that for!? Asshole.” He glares at her but turns, more curious than he is mad, and she makes a silent beckoning gesture and walks away. He grabs his drink and follows her, curious, she pulls him into a nook of the tavern hidden mostly from sight, uncomfortably close and still drinking. To anyone else, perhaps, her calm and detached demeanour may have been convincing.   
Not to Molly.   
He knows her behaviours too well, and lets her settle herself against the wall.   
The alcove they’re hidden in is small and they’re a tangle, layers of legs, Molly feels Beau’s knee jab him uncomfortably in the thigh but she doesn’t seem to care, too preoccupied staring into her drink.   
“What’s wrong, Beau?” He asks her, when the silence has dragged out enough ice from her, and she doesn’t lift her head but strains to look at him anyway.   
“Have you noticed Caleb?”   
Molly splutters a bit at her wording, and she sighs and rolls her eyes,   
“Lemme try that again, because I know the answer to  _ that one _ is yes: Have you noticed that Caleb’s, uh… flinching? A lot?”   
Molly takes a drink to still his nerves and heartbeat, he doesn’t take his eyes off of hers.   
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but no.”   
Beau swats at his arm lazily, he bumps her hand away with only a graze of her fingertips.   
“Look, if you wanna pretend you’re not madly in love with him, go right a-fuckin’-head, ‘cause I don’t really give two shits. Just so you know, though, lyin’ to yourself might work but the rest of us ain’t so easily fooled.”   
“I don’t-”   
“ _ Anyway _ ,” Beau talks over him, emphasising, “All I’m sayin’ is, maybe Caleb needs a li’l therapy. A little help on why he steels up when someone touches him.”   
“He just doesn’t like it.” Molly shrugs loosely, and Beau drains her glass as she points at him.   
“Lyin’ to yourself might work, but I can’t fix him, I don’t have any fuckin’ clue how. It’s either you or Fjord, Molly, and I’m goin’ to him next if you’re not gonna do it.” She detangles herself and steps over him, out of the alcove, before he can form a reply.   
“You got twenty-four hours, Molly, then I’m callin’ in the big guns.”   
“Yasha?” Molly asks in a light tone.   
“Fjord.” Beau replies, flat and grim, “Don’t fuck around.”   
She leaves, back the table, and leaves Molly in the alcove to think about what she’s said.

 

Caleb flumps into bed with the full intention of passing out straight away. Nott is three steps ahead of him, already out cold with Frumpkin on her own bed, Caleb has to stop to turn and strip out of his coat and boots.   
There’s a gentle knock at his door and he muffles a groan behind his hand. He pulls off his second boot before he heads out, and when he opens it, Molly has already given up and turned away, he startles when Caleb appears.   
“Oh good, you’re still awake.” His voice is hushed, Caleb is appreciative of this, and he nods slowly, confusion clouding his expression.   
“Is something wrong?”   
“Can I come in? I’ll be quiet.” Molly eyes Caleb, almost baleful, and the wizard sighs, presses the door open, and leads the way.   
They sit, side-by-side on Caleb’s bed, quiet for too long before Molly lifts his hand, slowly, and hovers it over Caleb’s leg. And watches the way that he snaps upright, straightens his spine and shakes as though the touch will hurt.   
Molly pulls his hand back a little.   
“May I?”   
Caleb looks between Molly’s hand and his face, stricken, and Molly gives him the most gentle smile that Caleb has ever seen him give.   
“It’s okay to say no, you know.”   
Caleb stares so hard at Molly’s hand where it hovers in mid-air that for a moment, Molly thinks he might burst into flames.   
Then, fingertips bump at Molly’s palm, and Caleb laces his fingers with Molly’s, drops their newly clasped hands to the bed and squeezes.   
“Is this okay for you, then?” Molly asks, softly, and Caleb nods. It’s slow, and jittery, but he nods.   
“ _ Ja _ , this- this is- okay, this is… familiar.”   
“It still hurts, though, doesn’t it?” Molly scans Caleb’s face, and the hurt turns to shock, Caleb’s eyes widen and he looks at Molly from the corner of his vision.   
“How- how do you, how can you tell?”   
“If I told you that I’d noticed by myself, I’d be lying.” The gentle smile is back, “I’m not the only one worried about you.”   
“Who, who else?” Caleb is back to shaking again, and Molly draws a gentle rhythm on the back of his hand.   
“I’m not at liberty to say, darling.”   
“Beauregard.” Caleb says, firmly, there’s dread to his tone, “What has she told you?”   
“Quite literally nothing at all. Just that she thinks something is wrong and that I need to fix it before she calls Fjord in to do my job for me.”   
Caleb searches him for markers of a lie and finds none. He relaxes, a little.   
“What exactly is ‘your job’, Mollymauk?”   
“Hm…” Molly taps his free hand to his mouth as he considers, “I would think that would be making you smile.”   
Caleb almost chuckles at that. It comes out more like a wheeze.   
“Beau told me to fix you, but I don’t think that’s something easily done.”   
“No.” Caleb agrees, solemn, and Molly squeezes his fingers.   
“But I can make you smile. I can try to make you hurt less. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”   
Molly is staring, so sincere, so determined, the frown is more a crease of concern than anything. Caleb feels a note, a chord within him twang with something he hadn’t recognised before, but it’s been there a while.   
“Would you stay here, tonight? With me?”   
“Are you sure that’s what you want from me?”   
The question catches him off-guard, and he begins to fall in on himself again, Molly panics a little,   
“That’s not a rejection, Caleb. If that’s what you want, I’m more than happy to! I just want to know that it’s what  _ you _ want, and not what you think that  _ I _ want from  _ you _ .”   
“It is what I want. I am sure.” Caleb says, quiet, and Molly nods sagely.   
“Alright then, you’ll have to scooch over, I’m not small.”   
Caleb is ready to sleep already, and he waits at the edge of the bed, watching as Molly strips down and unties the ribbon from his long hair, lets it fall.   
“You’d prefer me against the wall?” He asks Caleb, watching for his reaction over his shoulder.   
“If- if that is okay-?”   
“Darling, tonight, it’s all about you. You don’t need to worry for me.”   
He doesn’t even think as he leans over and presses a quick kiss to Caleb’s cheek, doesn’t register it as unusual until Caleb starts to sob. Molly drops his boot with a thud onto his jacket and flails as he avoids touching Caleb.   
“I’m sorry! Didn’t think at all, are you okay? Do you want me to go?”   
Caleb presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, but shakes his head, and after a brief, silent pause, he reaches out for Molly with one hand and makes a grabby motion. Molly moves in slowly, very careful,   
“Tell me or push me if I do something wrong, okay?”   
Caleb nods, and Molly slowly bundles him up into a hug. Caleb unravels and winds around Molly’s waist, instead, he sobs into Molly’s shoulder freely and lets the tiefling hush him, stroke his hair gently.   
“It’s alright. It’s okay. Come on, let’s lie down, is that okay?”   
He receives a nod, and so begins the slow, careful process of lowering them both to the mattress, where Caleb twines himself so close to Molly that they may as well be one being. Molly continues to stroke his hair and speak softly, anything that comes to mind, anything comforting, and every time he says anything affectionate, Caleb shakes harder, and harder, and then softer. And softer, until he stops, and when Molly draws back to check on him, he finds that Caleb has cried himself to sleep in his arms.   
Beau was very right. Caleb is broken, there’s something in him that’s broken, and Molly knows better now. He’ll fix it. He swears, and he kisses Caleb’s forehead, gently, before he lets sleep pull him away.

 

They wake up, impossibly, more entwined than they had fallen asleep. And at exactly the same time, as Nott doesn’t quite manage to muffle her squeak of shock and disdain in time, she stands over them glaring at Molly.   
And naturally, Molly’s first reaction is to look to Caleb.   
Caleb settles a hand gently on Molly’s hip, weighty and comforting, and turns to look at Nott over his own shoulder.   
“It’s okay, Nott.”   
“What is he doing in your  _ bed _ , Caleb?”   
“Similar to the things you do when you end up in my bed, I would assume.” There’s a crooked smile behind it, and she drops her shoulders, if not her dubious glare.   
“Worried about you?”   
“I was indeed.” Molly chips in, “Though with less maternal fury and more… affection.”   
Caleb turns back to him and, in the same movement, he kisses him. Molly closes his eyes, gives a surprised, pleased hum at the back of his throat, and when he opens his eyes again, Nott’s hand crossbow is pulled up and aimed at his head.   
“Come  _ on _ !” Molly protests, “ _ He _ kissed  _ me _ !”   
“Nott, please.” Caleb reaches toward her and pats her arm, “It is okay.”   
He sits up to reason with her, and Molly watches with a newfound sense of adoration, for both of them. This probably  _ isn’t _ what Beau meant by ‘fix it’ but it’s what he’s done.   
He’ll fix it one day.   
He swears.


End file.
